


The Dawn

by greygerbil



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Carried to bed by partner, King Stannis AU, M/M, Referenced Mpreg, Reunions - Character Runs To Other Character and Jumps Into His Arms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23952295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: Stannis has slain the Night King, but Stannis' betrothed Davos is not out of the reach of the cold hands of the Others' undead soldiers yet.
Relationships: Stannis Baratheon/Davos Seaworth
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33
Collections: Id Pro Quo 2020





	The Dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Plaid_Slytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/gifts).



The Night King was dead and Stannis’ sword had stopped burning.

He doubted, in the end, that it was the flames that had killed the monster. There had merely been a flicker left, anyway, and the Night King had shrugged off burning arrows as he approached with his dead-eyed wights. It was only when the Valyrian steel blade in Stannis’ hand had rent him from collarbone down to whatever rotten organs still sat in his ribcage that his cursed existence had finally ended.

Though his undead minions fought on after his death, the loss had become immediately obvious. They would still defend themselves if attacked, jump on any beating heart that came close, and if they had been trying to tear down a door or go a particular way before their king died, they would keep on doing so. However, as soon as their purpose ran out, they seemed unable to find a new one for themselves, moving like confused animals.

The king’s death had cost them another edge: the absolute dread they had caused for the men fighting on Stannis’ side. As the news about the Night King’s defeat spread over the battlefield, shouted from one knight to another, fighting spirits were woken anew. Soon a push led by Jon Snow with the watchmen and the free folk in tow had the main thrust of the wights crowded against the Wall, kept from escape by the wing of the army that Renly led. Despite how bitter their negotiations had been, to have him here now was invaluable. Stannis doubted he would have gotten the chance to fight through to the Night King without the distractions he had provided, constantly harassing his forces from the flanks. Now Stannis had only to decide where to best apply his knights to put the wights to their final rest.

“Your Highness!”

Stannis, who had removed himself from the press of battle after the long duel with the Night King, stood at the top of a small hill to observe the field. He turned on his heel as a voice rose over the clamour of the fight. Clambering up the snow-covered rocks behind him was a young woman in a torn, mud-stained cloak. Even in the dark he could see her face was red. Her wild hair stuck sweat-soaked to her forehead.

“It’s you, isn’t it, King Stannis? Your squire said you were-” She interrupted herself, discarding that part of her story. “Sir Davos sent me,” she gasped out instead. “The wights have us pinned down by the Lost Forest farms.”

Stannis felt his heart sink. There had been a few people who could not fight: the women and the sick, old, and young residents of Mole’s Town and the handful of other small villages that studded Brandon’s Gift, who had sought shelter with the Night’s Watch and Stannis’ army. He had sent them away from the battle under the command of his Hand, Davos Seaworth.

Stannis hadn’t seen any wights stray, but there was no reason the girl would lie to him. These things had been pouring forth from the Wall for too long now, and the dark never abided, so a pack of them could well have moved out of sight to descend on weak prey.

“I will fetch some knights. How many are there?”

“Sir Davos said he thinks it’s about three hundred or so,” the girl said, leaning her hands on her knees as she gathered her breath.

Stannis gave her a curt nod. He could leave the majority of his army here to deal with the greater threat, then. In truth, perhaps he should have stayed as well, but with Renly and Jon Snow, there were leaders on the field. Though in the end the villagers were more expandable than the knights and warriors and guards, who were needed to hold the line for the rest of the kingdom, Stannis saw no reason to abandon the weak if he could help it; and he could not in good conscience leave the life of his betrothed in such peril.

-

The farms by the Lost Forest laid at the bottom of a soft swell of the land, not as advantageous as the one at the Wall, but high enough to take a quick look at the situation. The defenders were illuminated by torches, which they wielded against the ever-encroaching wights alongside their make-shift weapons – mostly thick branches and splintered boards. Stannis saw a few older children, lanky enough to have hit the first growth spurt of youth, and some old men, but most of the fighters were women, certainly the strongest part of the group Davos had led away. His lover stood at the front of his scattered troops with the scarce handful of guards they had been able to spare from the army. Stannis figured that the sick and the frail and the small children were probably hiding at the edge of the forest, where at least they could try to lose the wights between the trees if their defenders fell. Davos had only kept those with him who had a reasonable chance to land a hit, but it was plain most of them weren’t fighters and even now the wights pushed them ever closer to the tree line past the fields and scattered farm houses.

Stannis lifted his sword and yelled his command to charge. Most of his men had lost their horses in the drawn-out battle that had preceded this one and Stannis was on foot, too, but the odds were better now than they had been at the start of this whole ordeal.

They fell into the wights’ backs. Stannis slashed left and right with his sword, heard bones crack as he rammed down his shield on a wight who had fallen to the thrust of another knight’s weapon, charged a tall dead man and severed his head from his shoulders with his sword. His knights, thankfully, had not slowed yet; they fought with the white-hot anger of those who had stepped over the bodies of their friends and walked earth drenched with blood.

When Stannis had cut his way through to the front with the press of knights behind him, he saw Davos in the distance. In one hand he held his sword, which had snapped in the middle, in the other a torch. Blood was dried and frozen on his lips, his cheek, his forehead, and there was an unsteadiness to his movements as he danced out of his enemy’s way, feet almost slipping on the snow.

Stannis shouldered another wight to the ground and crushed his throat with his armoured boot before he threw himself forward towards Davos. His sword cleaved through his attacker’s chest. The wight spit black blood as it went down. There was only a moment for Stannis to acknowledge Davos before he had to pivot back to the enemies still pushing forward, but in the shivering light of the torch he’d seen the smile spreading over Davos’ blood-smeared face.

The battle was a blur. Fighting wights was not like fighting humans and Stannis would be happy if he never had to do it again. Though the remorse was less, as there truly was little left in their cold eyes that seemed alive, at least breathing men could be bargained with, made to surrender, or manipulated by fear. He resisted the urge to turn the wights’ staring, dead faces into the mud with his boots just to escape their icy gaze that abided even as they were struck down.

Then, the din of weapons abated, almost from one moment to the other. Where there were still enemies standing, the remaining knights quickly put an end to them, smothering them with numbers. Stannis breathed, hot sweat on his neck and forehead growing cold quickly in the winter air. He pushed the sword into his scabbard and stopped a knight by his side so he could strap the shield to his back. In the distance, he saw shadows moving in the underbrush, crouched, shivering human figures illuminated by the torches of knights who had gone in search of the missing rest of Davos’ group. It seemed he’d guessed Davos’ tactics correctly, but with how long they had known each other, this was no surprise.

“My Lord!”

Stannis turned his head just in time to see Davos stumbling towards him through the churned mud and snow before he threw his arms around Stannis’ neck. With his blood still pounding in his ears, the fire of the fight in his chest, Stannis reacted before he could think, picking him up, turning him in a half circle like this was a peasants’ dance, not a battlefield. They had won. The Night King was dead and Davos was in his arms.

Several knights and rescued villagers who stood close enough to see them in the dark were staring. Of course people knew they were betrothed to be married when Stannis ascended the throne, even if many had disapproved of the choice, but Davos and him were not the kind to present it to the world. Stannis felt blood rush to his head, but he could still only look at Davos, not bear to set him down.

“The Night King is dead,” he told him, hearing his own voice raspy with exhaustion.

“Did you kill him? With Lightbringer?” Davos asked, wide-eyed.

“Yes.”

He attempted to put Davos back on his feet, but Davos’ legs gave away, his weight sagging against Stannis’ arms. The elation Stannis had felt turned to ashes once more. It seemed like no moment of victory in this eternal night would not be just as quickly snatched away again.

“Davos?”

“Don’t worry. I’m tired and I took a blow to my leg. It’s hard to tell right now what the damage is.” He gave a pale smile. “I only feel the cold. But it doesn’t matter, I doubt a couple of broken bones with kill me.” He glanced over his shoulder. “The other villagers are at the edge of the forest. I told them to hide.”

“I thought so.”

Davos struggled to stand upright, but Stannis had not the patience to watch him suffer after all the horrors he’d already witnessed. Without hesitation, he lowered himself to loop his forearm under his knees and lifted him up into his arms.

“Round up the villagers and then back to camp,” he barked at the closest knights, sending them scurrying.

-

Stannis carried Davos the whole way, trudging through the snow, even as Davos told him several times that he was too heavy. Compared to the weight of his armour and weapons, slight Davos in his thin coat of mail wasn’t much of an additional burden. Stannis figured that once he set Davos down, he’d be too tired to even pick himself up again, but for now, like an automaton, he had his task, kept his muscles moving.

The camp was lit up in the distance and he already saw the banners of Renly’s and his people as well as clusters of people in the mottled armour of the watchmen and free folk. They trudged forwards slowly, with exhausted knights and frightened children walking together. Stannis led them and Davos held the torch that lit his way, making sure he did not stumble over roots and rocks on the treacherous ground.

It was like this that they arrived. Renly and Melisandre stood to greet them and many others set aside their tasks, ignoring their armour, food and bandages, and watched them approach, speaking in hushed whispers. Stannis saw the way Davos’ torch shimmered on the metal covering his arms and would also catch on his helmet, his shoulder guards, casting him in strange light. Even Renly closed his mouth, already opened for some jape, as they came closer.

“The Lord of Light has blessed you tonight, my king,” Melisandre said, bowing. “Azor Ahai has returned, wielding Lightbringer to release us.”

Stannis only nodded as he followed her. He still did not know what to make of that Lord of Light, but Lightbringer had not led him astray tonight, had it?

“Sir Davos must be looked at by a healer,” he told her. “How did you fare at the Wall, Renly?”

“Better, after their king was dead. I fear there’ll probably be stragglers haunting Brandon’s Gift for a while, but the Night’s Watch will keep a look out and these creatures are a lot less fearsome when it’s not a deluge of them bearing down on you.”

“Well done,” Stannis said.

Renly gaped at him with theatrical exaggeration.

“A compliment? You must have hit your head.”

Stannis shot him a displeased glance as he set Davos down on one of the empty cots in an open tent. He pulled off his own helmet, breathing the cold air freely. Davos handed his torch over to Melisandre.

“Even the smuggler has a flame tonight,” she said, smugly, almost playful. The leaden fear that had infected people in the weeks before, keeping them grim and quiet, seemed to be falling away all around.

Davos made a small, amused sound. “Fine. This time, I will hold with your fire.”

“That is well done. They’ll remember you carrying the flames that lit the way for the slayer of the Night King when he returned to us. Such images stay, and they may well keep an assassin’s hand from your throat one day, too, when they seek to replace you with someone more noble.”

Davos did not look like he planned to argue that point. Stannis knew enough of the distasteful intrigues at court to say she was right, too.

“Let me help you with your armour,” Renly told Stannis, clasping his shoulder.

With the assistance of his brother, Stannis exchanged his heavy armour for a simple tunic of chain mail matching Davos’ and a thick woollen cloak. He sat by Davos’ side with his sword laying in the dirt next to him, watching in silence as a small, stout maester set Davos’ bloodied leg. While Stannis had been gone to get rid of the armour, Davos had washed his face, leaving cuts and bruises in dark red and angry purple.

The maester looked up at Stannis when he was finished, raising and quickly dropping his reverent gaze before he ran off.

Apparently, tales of the fight were already making their rounds.

“My Lord, the Night King is dead. Why do you look so stern?” Davos asked.

His cold hand touched Stannis’ cheek and then reached up, gently brushing through Stannis’ hair that laid in a dark circle around his head. Stannis looked down at his betrothed. Neither of them was forty yet, though Davos had a few years on him, but it struck him then that Davos also looked so much older than he had when they had first met, his beard and hair flecked with grey, his weather-beaten face lined, though no less handsome; and of course he himself had barely any hair left for Davos to play with, though Davos did like very much to tease the rests, and the frown Stannis wore so often was etched into his skin now. The last years had drained him more than anything else Stannis had done in his life and Davos could not have had a much better time. Could it truly be over? Stannis did not like to hope too soon.

“Melisandre might call me Azor Ahai, but I don’t know if that burning sword is what killed the Night King. The flames were one of Melisandre’s tricks, something you might see in a mummer’s show. My sword was barely aflame when our fight came to an end, anyway – though I’m sure those who watched us will soon be telling it blazed like a house fire. I think it was the Valyrian steel that killed him, in truth. If the prophecy is false, are we truly finished with this?”

He kept his voice down. After all the knights had been through, he didn’t need a panic just because of his own doubts. Davos was a steady enough man not to let dread overtake him, though. He looked up thoughtfully at Stannis.

“You know I’m not a follower of the Lord of Light, but I don’t think this disproves the prophecy. You did slay the Night King with your Lightbringer. If it had to be made to burn, perhaps that just means prophecies don’t just fall onto people who don’t try to make them come true.”

Stannis nodded his head after turning the words in his mind. It appealed to his pragmatic side to think so, at the very least. However, Davos’ hand dropping into his lap and squeezing his wrist distracted him.

“I’ll praise that sword and its Lord to the end of days if need be, anyway. I was so happy to see you. Knowing you’d face the Night King...”

He left the sentence unfinished. Stannis could not blame him for being more doubtful than Melisandre; he himself had not been certain of his victory at all, not until he had finally plunged the sword into the Night King, and even now he didn’t know if this was the end of it. He grasped Davos’ hand, silently covering it with his own. If he was lucky, now he could spent some time ruling this damned kingdom instead of trying to keep it from being torn into the void by quarrelling nobles ignoring a host of monsters at the border. The Baratheon men had often born children and Davos even had some bastard sons he’d carried, so between them there should be enough heirs to Stannis’ line. The dragon queen had established herself in Essos, but no rumours came anymore that she was trying to cross the sea, and the Northmen had joined Stannis for a promise of a voice on the council and helped him smash the Lannisters, whereas the Tyrells had bent the knee when Stannis agreed to marry Loras to Renly. The Dornish and Krakens had waited for the end of the war and hopefully would lurk for a while longer, allowing Stannis to get his bearings. There was, perhaps, a chance of something like peace.

A cry rose from the other end of the camp, taken up by many voices. Stannis winced, looking up. Had the stragglers of the undead army already come back?

But people were not rushing to arms. Loras, who had gotten to his feet among the others, pointed to the horizon.

“The sun!” he called. “The sun is rising!” 

And it was, a thin sliver of light over the snowy hills, barely more than a shimmer of blue yet. The night that had lasted weeks and weeks was finally coming to an end. Stannis stared at it and only stopped doing so when Davos reached out and pulled him down into a kiss. Stannis felt his hands shake as his heart beat in his throat. Whatever prophecies had been true or false, whether gods or dull steel had helped him slay the Night King, the dawn had returned.

As he looked up, a crowd had gathered around them, Renly, Melisandre, Jon Snow, Loras all rushing in among the villagers, watchmen and knights. There was relief on all of their faces, stark and real. However, it was Davos who spoke first, forcing himself to sit up.

“The King has ended the long night,” he said, grasping Lightbringer by the hilt and putting it back in Stannis’ hand.

As Stannis got to his feet and lifted the sword, the first light from the horizon mingled with the reflections of the flames of torches on the Valyrian steel, and for a moment, as cheers rose around him, it looked like the blade was on fire.


End file.
